


Whatever It Takes

by Callisto



Series: Season 5 codas [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Episode Related, Episode: s05e21 Two Minutes to Midnight, Gen, Hugs, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:47:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callisto/pseuds/Callisto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dean lied. He does remember when they used to hunt Wendigos together, when ghosts stepped out of mirrors and hallways to be met by a swing of iron and a blast of salt. He remembers when the worst thing in the world was the FBI, and when the bottom line was Latin, lighter fluid, and a box of matches. And he also remembers a boy hanging on his every word with wide eyes. That same boy who gave him a present because Dean had stolen Christmas and told him the truth.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> _Death: “You have to do whatever it takes to put Lucifer back in his cell.”  
>  \- 5.21 Two Minutes to Midnight -_
> 
> Thanks to Ancasta for the beta.

Dean knows what the itch under his skin wants him to do, but something is holding him back and keeping his hands in his pockets at the crucial moment. The pattern seems to be them gathering first in Bobby’s junkyard in a loose group, stiffly nodding as they eye each other’s weapons and plan escape routes. Dean watches Sam’s shoulders rise and fall in a steadying breath as he seeks out Dean’s gaze for a final nod, and Dean’s heart usually stutters. His mouth goes dry, he licks his lips, and quite often he even manages an actual step forward. But then Bobby or Castiel or even that fucker Crowley, says or does something to distract him and it’s too late. By the time he looks up again, Sam is away.

By the time Dean himself is away, driving to whatever suicide mission is next on their batshit crazy agenda, he’s already talking himself out if it. It’s dumb, Sam will laugh, Bobby will swear, Cas will...well, he’ll do what he always does when Dean goes off the grid: he’ll squint. And then there’s Crowley. Fucking Crowley. Who will probably take a picture of the whole thing. So no, no, no. A planet of no.

Until he sits down with Death and eats what is probably the best but likely the last pizza of his life. He licks cheese off trembling fingers, looks Death right in the eye and tells yet another lie to get them what they need, because seriously, that freak Gollum has nothing on him when it comes to the one ring to rule them all.

Only Sam and his stubborn streak have gone and changed all that. They’ve given him a knot under his heart the size of Texas, one that has nothing to do with Death taking a piece of his ass, and everything to do with a kid brother who grew up into this quiet, solid heroism when Dean had hung his head and stopped looking.

So it isn’t Bobby’s spiel about losing the world or his brother that makes him drink beer after beer in quick succession, until he throws them up as acid behind a burnt-out Chevy. Dean would give the world up in a heartbeat for Sam. Always has, always will. He doesn’t know if it’s a fuck-up in his genetic wiring, or something he’s supposed to actually feel good about. Ruby, Lilith, even Hell and all the armies therein have never stamped it out.

He picks himself up, kicks dirt over the bile he’s left there, and knows that it’s Sam himself who's shining a fucking harsh light on how Dean decides things. Sam who expects so little and gives so much, Sam whose heart and faith have kept Dean from oblivion in recent times, and Sam who believes that as weak and screwed up as he is, he can and should save the world - one civilian at a time, no matter what. That’s the Sam he can do this for. Dean can give up his own selfish, easy wants and somehow find it in his jaded heart to back the terrifying choice Sam wants to make.

There is no choice for Dean. But there is for Sam; he gets that now. Dean has watched Sam choose the world and his faithless big brother again and again. So for one last time, one last push – literally – so be it. It’s what Dean can cling to as he spits, wipes a shaking hand across his mouth, and contemplates finally and forever letting Sam go.

******

Dean hunts Sam out before they have to leave. It has to be just the two of them. He’d do it in front of the others, this time he knows he would. But he’d still rather it was the way it’s been his whole life. Just he and Sam, alone and fucked-up together.

Sam is on the Impala again, back on the windshield, feet on the hood. This seems to be Sam’s comfort zone more than ever these days, his default position when it gets too close and intense inside Bobby’s. As he gets nearer, Dean experiences a pinch of guilt. They’ve all had their parts to play in making Sam feel like an outsider. He crunches gravel deliberately and watches Sam start and turn, feet already sliding off as he goes to stand. Like Dean is going to pick now to get mad about feet on his baby’s paintwork.

“Dean. Um... I was just coming to find—”

Dean picks up speed the last couple of yards and simply barrels into him, knocking the wind and the words right out of Sam as they both rock back and Sam almost slips on the loose gravel.

“Dean?”

Sam doesn’t seem to realize what’s going on yet, is trying to scrabble back and away so he can look at Dean and see what’s up. So Dean hooks his right arm around those broad shoulders, plants his feet in a wider stance, and wraps his left arm around as much of Sam’s back as he can. Then he takes a deep breath and just hauls the fucker down and in.

“If you’re going to do this insane thing, then... then I have to do this, Sammy.”

“Dean. _God_.” But it’s a different ‘Dean’ than before. It’s quiet for one, and bands of iron suddenly press the air from Dean’s lungs when Sam’s arms go around him. He wasn’t going to speak, he wasn’t. He was just going to wrap himself in Sam one last time, breathe him in, and send up his sorries and pleas to a God that may yet care just enough to give the best room in the house to his kid brother.

He swallows hard. Sam’s ridiculous hair is blowing across his face and tickling his nose but there’s no way he’s moving.

Sam’s hand rubs up and down his back.

“This is just in case, you know?” says Dean, and he starts doing the same.

He feels Sam nod. Then sniff and hug him harder.

“Dean. Dean, I gotta...”

Sam is trying to pull back a little, but Dean is about to lose it so no, not yet.

“What,” he says, reaching up behind Sam to tug a strand of his hair, “you got some place to be right now, tough guy?”

That gets him a kind of wet snortlaugh. But Sam stays where he is, returns to rubbing Dean’s back.

“Actually, yeah. And you do too, asshole.”

Dean turns his head, presses into Sam’s neck, and the tears start. God, how can he do this? How can he give up this idiot?

He clears his throat and raises his head a little. “In a minute. The end of the world can wait one goddamn minute.”

Dean gets his minute, the shortest of his life. Then he feels Sam struggle again to get some space between them. “Dean, I have... you have to let me give...” Sam seems to be trying to wriggle his fingers into his jeans. Dean’s heart picks up speed and he hugs him more fiercely, trapping Sam’s hand between them. Dean knows what Sam is trying to get to in his pocket. He’s known since Sam fell asleep with the damn thing curled tight in his fingers two days after they were blasted to heaven and back. He should have remembered then that Sam never leaves well enough alone. But right now Sam has to, because if he gets the amulet out and tries to give it back in Bobby’s lot, then Dean is going to break down and bawl for China.

And besides, there are still things he needs to say, needs Sam to hear. “Just... let me talk, okay?" There’s silence and no more struggling so Dean takes a breath. "You've got to cut this ‘I’m the least crap’. Dude, you see anyone else offering to jump in the pit? Only you, man. And you’re still runnin’ into burning buildings along the way. Not to mention hauling my sorry ass along with you. You’re... Sammy, you’re the best of all of us. The best. You have to know that going in. And you gotta hear it from me, because I am so fucking sorry if I made you think anything less.” He gets a strangled sob in reply, a muffled ‘don’t’, and Sam’s fingers squeeze his sides mercilessly. He blinks, whispers to get the last bit out in one piece. “I am so proud of you. You hear me, Sammy? So fucking proud.”

Sam nods, short and stifled on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean finally releases his hold a little. What the hell, they’ve seen each other far worse. When he gets a look Sam’s face is wet, his bangs are every which way, and his shoulders are heaving while he struggles to get his breathing under control. Dean is pretty sure he doesn’t look much better. He wipes at his own eyes, shakes his head, and then gets his thumbs under Sam’s eyes and does the same for him. Something he hasn’t done since Sam used to cry a river whenever he fell and skinned his knees out in the school yard. He can’t think of a better gesture for right now.

Dean leans in again. He’s going to be the big brother with every breath he has left. He shakes him a little. “Stop cryin’ Sammy, you gotta go save the world.”

Sam looks up. Nods furiously and blinks rapidly. “What about you, Dean?”

Dean’s hands leave Sam’s face and he slides one down Sam’s right arm to where his fingers are jammed in his pocket again. “’S okay,” he smiles, “you already saved me.”

That gets Sam’s Adams apple going again, and Dean knows he’s being unfair now. They need Sam with his shit completely together before they leave here. But then Sam sniffs, wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve, swings the amulet between them, and all bets are off on fair and unfair.

Sam’s gaze is sharp and steady, his jaw locked, and Dean is reminded once again how and why they’re here. “You gotta take this back, Dean. I know you know I’ve got it, and I can’t... I can’t do this alone and I can’t explain, and you just need to let me give this to you again. Please.”

Dean’s hand goes out for it even as he shakes his head. He lets the warm weight of it rest in his palm when Sam slowly unwinds the cord and lets it go.

“Never could keep you out of a trashcan, Sammy.”

But the moment is too heavy for humor. And the silence between them stretches a beat too long.

Sam bites his lip. “Dean?”

“C’mere.” Dean waves his hand down and towards himself.

“What? Dean, I don’t—”

“Come here, Sam.” He holds the cord wide in his hands and gestures for Sam to bend his head.

“Dean, no. God, it’s yours, man.”

“Well, now it’s yours. Bend your head, Gigantor.”

Sam does and Dean takes his time fitting it around Sam’s neck.

Dean lied. He does remember when they used to hunt Wendigos together, when ghosts stepped out of mirrors and hallways to be met by a swing of iron and a blast of salt. He remembers when the worst thing in the world was the FBI, and when the bottom line was Latin, lighter fluid, and a box of matches. And he also remembers a boy hanging on his every word with wide eyes. That same boy who gave him a present because Dean had stolen Christmas and told him the truth.

“Dean, I don’t know what to say...” Sam’s voice is thick with tears again.

“Then shut up. “ Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Dude, seriously. I’m pretty sure I’ve chick-flicked the both of us to exhaustion here.”

He gives Sam a minute, takes one himself, and they wait quietly in the gray light of a cold afternoon amongst the skeletons of old cars and trucks.

He pats Sam’s chest, feels the amulet rub against his palm, feels Sam hitch in a breath and let it out slowly. “Ready?” he asks.

“No,” says Sam.

Dean shakes his head. Two can play at that game.

“Me, neither. So let’s go, then.”

“Hey.” Sam’s hand is on his arm before he’s walked a step.

Sam’s fingers squeeze in hard, and when Dean looks back Sam smiles, dimples and all. He honest to God fucking _smiles_.

“Let’s kick it in the ass, Dean.”

 

*******


End file.
